“A little. I know which ones are poison, which are useful for healing or eating.”

She frowned at the flowers in her mittens. “Can you eat these?”

He shook his head. “No, nor heal with them. They’re not much good for anything really.”

“They’re part of nature’s beauty,” she told him, a small line appearing in her smooth brow. “That makes them good for something.”

He laughed this time, he couldn’t help it. “True enough.” He glanced around for sign of the girl’s parents. “You aren’t here alone?”

“Mumma’s in the woods. I hid behind that oak so I could see you ride past. It was very funny when you fell off.”

Vaelin looked over at Spit who artfully swung his head in the other direction. “My horse thought so too.”

“What’s his name?”

“Spit.”

“That’s ugly.”

“So is he, but I have a dog that’s uglier.”

“I’ve heard about your dog. It’s as big as a horse and you tamed it after fighting it for a day and a night during the Test of the Wild. I’ve heard other stories too. I write them down but I have to hide the book from Mumma and Dadda. I heard you defeated ten men on your own and have already been chosen as the next Aspect of the Sixth Order.”

Ten men? he wondered. Last I heard it was seven. By my thirtieth year it’ll be a hundred. “It was four,” he told her, “and I wasn’t on my own. And the next Aspect cannot be chosen until the death or resignation of the current Aspect. And my dog isn’t as big as a horse, nor did I fight him for a day and a night. If I fought him for five minutes I’d lose.”

“Oh.” She seemed a little crestfallen. “I’ll have to change my book.”

“Sorry.”

She gave a small shrug. “When I was little Mumma said you were going to come live with us and be my brother but you never did. Dadda was very sad.”

The wave of confusion that swept through him was sickening. For a moment the world seemed to move around him, the ground swaying, threatening to tip him over. “What?”

“ALORNIS!” A woman was hurrying towards them from the woods, a handsome woman with curly black hair and a plain woollen cloak. “Alornis come here!”

The girl gave a small pout of annoyance. “She’ll take me away now.”

“I’m sorry, brother,” the woman said breathlessly as she approached, catching hold of the girl's hand and pulling her close. Despite the woman’s evident agitation Vaelin noted her gentleness with the girl, both arms closing over her protectively. “My daughter is ever curious. I hope she didn’t bother you overly.”

“Her name is Alornis?” Vaelin asked her, his confusion giving way to an icy numbness.

The woman’s arms tightened around the girl. “Yes.”

“And your name, lady?”

“Hilla.” She forced a smile. “Hilla Justil.”

It meant nothing to him. I do not know this woman. He saw something in her expression, something besides the concern for her daughter. Recognition. She knows my face. He switched his gaze to the little girl, searching her face carefully. Pretty, like her mother, same jaw, same nose…different eyes. Dark eyes. Realisation dawned with the force of an icy gale, dispelling the numbness, replacing it with something cold and hard. “How many years do you have, Alornis?”

“Ten and eight months,” she replied promptly.

“Nearly eleven then. I was eleven when my father brought me here.” He noticed her hands were empty and saw she had dropped her flowers. “I always wondered why he did that.” He reached down to gather the winterblooms, being careful not to break the stems, and went over to crouch in front of Alornis. “Don’t forget these.” He smiled at her and she smiled back. He tried to fix the image of her face in his head.

“Brother…” Hilla began.

“You shouldn’t linger here.” He straightened and went over to Spit, grasping his reins tight. The horse plainly read his mood because he allowed himself to be mounted without demur. “These woods can be treacherous in winter. You should seek flowers elsewhere in future.”

He watched Hilla clutching her daughter and fighting to master her fear. Finally she said, “Thank you, brother. We shall.”

He allowed himself a final glance at Alornis before spurring Spit into a gallop. This time he vaulted the log without the slightest hesitation and they thundered into the woods leaving the girl and her mother behind.

I always wondered why he did that… Now I know.

The months passed, winter’s frost became spring’s thaw and Vaelin spoke no more than he had to. He practised, he watched the birth of Scratch’s pups, he listened to Frentis’s joyous tales of life in the Order, he rode his bad tempered horse and he said almost nothing. Always it was there, the coldness, the numb emptiness left by his meeting with Alornis. Her face lingered in his mind, the shape of it, the darkness of her eyes. Ten and eight months… His mother had died little under five years ago. Ten and eight months.

Caenis tried to talk to him, seeking to draw him out with one of his stories, the tale of the Battle of the Urlish Forest where the armies of Renfael and Asrael met in bloody conflict for a day and a night. It was before the Realm was made, when Janus was a Lord and not a King, when the four Fiefs of the Realm were split and fought each other like cats in a sack. But Janus united them, with the wisdom of his word and the keenness of his blade, and the power of his Faith. It was this that brought the Sixth Order into the battle, the vision of a Realm ruled by a King that put the Faith before all things. It was the charge of the Sixth Order that broke the Renfaelin line and won the day. Vaelin listened to it all without comment. He had heard it before.

“…and when they brought the Renfaelin Lord Theros before the King, wounded and chained, he spat defiance and demanded death rather than kneel before an upstart whelp. King Janus surprised all by laughing. ‘I do not require you to kneel, brother,’ he said. ‘Nor do I require you to die. Scant use you would be to this Realm dead.’ At this Lord Theros replied...”

“‘Your Realm is a madman’s dream,’” Vaelin cut in. “And the King laughed again and they spent a day and a night arguing until argument became discussion and finally Lord Theros saw the wisdom of the King’s course. Ever since he has been the King’s most loyal vassal.”

Caenis’s face fell. “I’ve told you this before.”

“Once or twice.” They were near the river, watching Frentis and his group of youngsters play with Scratch’s puppies. The hound bitch had produced six in all, four males and two females, seemingly harmless bundles of wet fur when she had licked at them on the kennel floor. They had grown quickly and were already half the size of a normal dog, though they gambolled around and tripped over their own paws like all pups. Frentis had been allowed to name them all but his choices proved somewhat unimaginative.

“Slasher!” he called to his favourite pup, the largest of the lot, waving a stick. “Here boy!”

“What is it, brother?” Caenis asked him. “Where does this silence come from?”

Vaelin watched Frentis being bowled over by Slasher, giggling as the pup slobbered over his face. “He loves it here,” he observed.

“The Order has certainly been good for him,” Caenis agreed. “Seems he’s grown a foot or more since he came here, and he learns quickly. The masters think well of him since he never needs to be told anything twice. I don’t think he’s even had a caning yet.”

“What was his life like, I wonder, that this place is somewhere he could love?” He turned back to Caenis. “He chose to be here. Unlike the rest of us. He chose this. He wasn’t forced through the gate by an unloving parent.”

Caenis moved closer and lowered his voice. “Your father wanted you back, Vaelin. You should always remember that. Like Frentis, you chose to be here.”

Ten years, eight months…Mumma said you would come and live in our house and be my brother… but you never did…“Why? Why did he want me back?”

“Regret? Guilt? Why does a man do anything?”

“The Aspect told me once that my presence here was a symbol of my father’s devotion to the Faith and the Realm. If he had come into conflict with the King perhaps withdrawing me would symbolise the opposite.”

Caenis’s expression grew sombre. “You think so little of him, brother. Although we are taught to leave our families behind it bodes ill for a son to hate his father.”

Ten years, eight months … “You have to know a man to hate him.”

Chapter 4

The coming of summer brought the traditional week long exchange with brothers and sisters from different Orders. They were allowed to choose the Order in which they would be placed. It was usual for boys of the Sixth Order to trade places with brothers from the Fourth, the Order with which they would work most closely following confirmation. Instead Vaelin opted for the Fifth.

“The Fifth?” Master Sollis frowned at him. “The Order of the Body. The Order of Healing. You want to go there?”